


all things are watching her / and she cannot see them.

by NovemberBlueSky



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blindness, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, F/F, F/M, ManDadlorian, Past Violence, Poisoning, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Troubled Past, armor might be a metaphor here, did I mention that it's slowburn, he just wants a family, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberBlueSky/pseuds/NovemberBlueSky
Summary: Valk Charvha is a warrior guided by the Force, and it leads her across the Mandalorian's path while in Trask. She steps in when Quarrens attack the being they blame for their kin's death. Honor bound by the life debt, the Mandalorian offers payment. Valk asks only for a ride. During the trip, they realize that both armored warriors have things in common. Tensions mount as they each realize that there is an attraction forming between them. Each with their own questions rising from the past, the Force guides them to some answers and more questions.“Actually, I think I owe you a drin-'' Din replied, turning to see a black cloak flickering out of sight, back into the shadows of the supply crates. “Hey, wait! You . . . ,” he stuttered, realizing he knew nothing about the being that had easily dispatched his enemies, perhaps saving his life.“You owe me nothing, Mandalorian. Safeguard the Child. He is all that matters,” the being said, the shadows closing in, obscuring their retreat.
Relationships: Chass na Chadic & Original Female Character, Chass na Chadic/Original Female Character, Din Djarin & Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be mostly canon compliant, but I'll be expanding on events after Chapter 16. This fic fits in during and after Chapter 11 and is expanded to include Valk Charvha in some of the empty spots, but she won't change anything major.
> 
> //Slowburn
> 
> I just had this idea for what Din Djarin's interaction with another warrior who also wears a mask (not a Mando helmet though) might look like. The idea didn't leave me alone so here it is. 
> 
> This is my first fic posted on here so any construction criticism and kudos are welcome! (Also looking for a beta!)
> 
> The title is taken from an English translation of Garcia Lorca's Romance Sonambulo which is really beautiful and worth a read.
> 
> I have a little under 10k written, so let me know if I should post the rest of it!

Chapter 1

Valk Charvha was just passing along the docks, on her way to the cantina and following a hunch, when she saw a group of Quarrens gathering. Rather, she felt them converging on one specific, strange Force signature. She sensed their menace rippling outward.

  
“You killed my brother,” the leader yelled.

  
She turned her focus toward the being in the center. There were actually two, one eclipsed by a youngling of an ancient race of beings, strong with the Force. The other, smaller Force signature was a warrior, discipline and tradition steeped in his armor and demeanor.

The Quarrens were slipping blasters from holsters and were levelling them at the warrior. There were many of them, ringing the warrior on all sides.

Valk was wreathed in the shadows and quietly slipped her naginata from its fastner on her backplate, shifting the edges of her cloak behind the clips on her pauldrons that kept it back away from her arms, flowing down her back like a waterfall.

The warrior’s fingers were twitching near the holster of his blaster, calculating the timing. Valk slipped behind the crates edging the dock area. She ran her hands over her daggers and throwing knives, verifying they were all in their correct places.

Valk gave herself over to the Force entirely then, relinquishing her will, her thoughts, and became an extension of the Force, a pure reaction.

Two laser blasts sheared through the air, triggering her to motion and the tip of the naginata found the heart of the first Quarren. Moving like wind, she spun and the blade slipped under the skull of another, dropping him before he realized what had happened. The Force guided her through killing half a dozen of the amphibious creatures, slicing and cutting, piercing through chest cavities and eye sockets. They made soft noises as they died, crumpling to the ground. She flicked in and out of the shadows, and none of the bolts aimed her way came anywhere close.

At last, the Force released its hold on her, and left her in the pooled light of a security lamp. She tore a scrap from one of the thug’s clothes and cleaned her blade, returning it to her back. She was opposite the warrior who was standing still with his blaster levelled on her.

&|&

Din Djarin had fired maybe three shots, yet the entire gang had fallen. He couldn’t make sense of what had happened to the rest of the thugs until the darkly dressed figure stepped out from the shadows, Quarren blood dripping from the end of a staff.

The being was garbed in black, head to toe, from a cape to armored boots. They were even wearing a matte black mask, a simple stylized facemask. The mask’s expression was neutral with the facial features of a human, large even eyes, slim nose, and full lips. It radiated a beautiful disdain, a regal disinterest.

“Thank you,” Din said, the sound modulated into a flat metallic tone.

“It was nothing, Mandalorian. What is your quest?” the being’s voice was lilted and assertive, cultured.

He found himself replying, “I am searching out those of my kind, to aid in returning a Foundling to its own kind.” He reflexively shifted the kid behind his back, under his cape. He was wary of exposing his plans, and his vulnerability in terms of the Child, to just any stranger on a planet. How had this person known of his quest at all? He did not lower his blaster, but they didn’t seem to care.

“I think your quest will be aided shortly,” they replied cryptically.

Din heard just then the sound of Z-6 jetpacks roaring as they came closer and shifted to a feet-down, landing position. Three sets of boots thudded down, and Din turned to see the Mandalorian pretenders, Bo-Katan and her companions, Axe and Koska.

Bo-Katan removed her helmet, which still made Din’s gut jerk, and said, “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Actually, I think I owe you a drin-'' Din replied, turning to see a black cloak flickering out of sight, back into the shadows of the supply crates. “Hey, wait! You . . . ,” he stuttered, realizing he knew nothing about the being that had easily dispatched his enemies, perhaps saving his life.

“You owe me nothing, Mandalorian. Safeguard the Child. He is all that matters,” the being said, the shadows closing in, obscuring their retreat.

&|&

Valk heard the commotion as the Imperial cruiser returned to the dock, radiating death. She watched through the Force, walking away from the doorway of the cantina, where she had been looking for work, anything to take her off-planet. She had been tracking a powerful Force signature and having located it the night before, in the custody of the Mandalorian warrior, now needed another task. One that paid in credits. Or at least a lift.

She was lingering near the house unit where the Frog beings were watching over the Child. She had worried about him, but after monitoring the consciousness streams of those nearby, with no hint of Grogu in them, she had been able to relax a little.

She must not have been as concealed as she thought, because as the warrior’s Force presence passed by, he paused, and called out, “How do you know about the kid?”

His feelings were cycling between gratitude for her protection, fear for Grogu, and apprehension that she was after him, herself.

“I felt him, through the Force, Mandalorian. I followed him here to discover the source of the Force signature,” she explained, hoping he would heed the warning embedded in her words. There were much darker, more powerful beings in the universe hunting for Force users.

“Can you train him?” he replied, curious if this stranger was indeed a Jedi.

“No,” Valk replied. “I am not truly trained myself. There is another that will train him.”

“Who?” Mando asked eagerly.

“I do not know yet. But it is not far off now,” she said, feeling out along the lines that connected all things, converging and diverging, pointing toward potentials, meetings and partings, births and deaths.

“I owe you still. For the other night,” the warrior said, somewhat hesitantly. He was unsure what price would be named. But he believed in honor, and an unpaid life debt was dishonorable.

Valk brought her attention down through all the pathways and entanglements, back to the present. Force predictions of the future were dangerous and unreliable, likely to lead into darkness.

“There is one favor I would ask.”

“Name it,” he rasped. He was anxious to retrieve the Child, and the wind was kicking up, stirring his cloak and the stranger’s in mirror images.

“I would ask for passage off-world,” she said simply.

“Where to?” he asked, curious now to where it would be.

“Anywhere. The next port you stop at is sufficient,” she responded, straightening up.

“That is all?” He was a little taken aback. There was no guarantee that he would even land on a habitable world, much less anything better than a backwater skughole.

“Yes, it is the only thing I am in need of. A ride off-planet.”

Din couldn’t help thinking that he may have finally met a terser being than himself.

“Then come, I’m departing shortly,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. He maintained a tense aspect, hand never far from his blaster. He was twitchy until the trio arrived at the Mandalorian’s ship. This planet had not been particularly kind to him.

“Welcome to the Razor Crest,” he said in the flatly ironic way he had. “It’s a little . . . cozy.”

Valk assessed the ship. If this was how she got off Trask, then this was how she got off Trask. In the meantime, Grogu would make for an interesting diversion. The thoughts she could sense from him were indistinct, colorful, and curious.

“The hold where I keep my backlog is empty currently. You can set up a cot there.” He led her to the respective space on board.

“It will do,” she replied.

He nodded and left for the cockpit.

She set up the proffered, spare cot and unstrapped the small pack that lay under her cloak. She set it down and sighed. There was a bone deep exhaustion under the constant existence without a home. But ever since Alderaan, a home was no longer possible. The despair that had caused had driven her parents to desperation. And what rebellious royals with a Force-sensitive child and no hope of salvation do, tends to be rather . . . dramatic.

Now Valk Charvha was alone. Except for Grogu, though she could feel his restlessness nearby.

She crossed over the hatch that led down into the hold into the cockpit where the Mandalorian was sitting in the pilot seat.

“We’ll be leaving the atmosphere and entering hyperspace soon,” he said, tilting his head to the side as if he was looking back over his shoulder.

“The Mon Calamari really did a number on her, huh?” Valk said, off-handedly, examining the aquatic cables and patches that stank of fish with the tips of her fingers.

He made a noise of agreement, and Grogu cooed at her. He was watching her with his large dark eyes, ears canted toward her curiously.

“Hey, little one,” she said, turning toward him, and scooping him up in her arms.

The Mandalorian stood suddenly, hand hovering over his blaster. He stared at her, the cold expression of her mask focused on the Foundling.

“I don’t even know your name. Put him down,” he demanded.

“You can call me Char. I am a human woman, Mandalorian. You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, running her gloved finger along the edge of his ear.

He just grunted and watched them for a few more moments before slowly sitting back down in the pilot’s seat. He was remembering Char’s unasked for aid, the opportunity she had passed on to kill them both, and decided that until there was further reason for doubt, he could trust the stranger a little. After a beat, the

Mandalorian unscrewed the round cap from a lever and held it out.

Valk took the bauble and held it out for the Child when he reached for it. Grogu took it and babbled happily.

“Has he demonstrated any strange abilities?” she asked, feeling the being in her arms testing the world around him through the Force.

“No,” he said curtly. Then after a beat, “Well, yes. He has done some unexplainable things. I have been tasked with uniting him with a Jedi who can train him.”

“What has he done?”

The warrior sighed, “He has lifted a great beast, healed a poisoned wound, and pushed back flames.”

“Interesting,” she murmured, watching him as Grogu turned his eyes toward the Mandalorian.

“What does that mean? What do you know of the Force?” His curiosity was peaked. He had never met another Force user, and most of what was known were rumors or legends.

“Not much. As I said, I am not trained myself. Most of what I know are reflexes,” she said, holding her hand out, trying to ease the toy into her palm. It resisted her grasp. It wasn’t as intuitive to Valk as feeling along the field lines that describe most beings’ mental landscape. Whether it had been survival or simply innate ability, she had never developed most external Force abilities. The first time Valk Charvha had been threatened with violence, the Force had taken over and guided her reflexes, saving her. Ever since, the Force had given her incredible fighting skills, and she had sought out a master of combat who had trained her, further honing her gifts. It had given her purpose and protected her against those who had attempted to take advantage of her lack of sight. Then there had come an end to her training. Her mask was the parting gift her Master had given her. She had moved through worlds searching for purpose, occasionally finding work as a bodyguard or hired hand. Occasionally, someone would try to hire her as a mercenary. Those jobs paid very well, but Valk found the work extremely distasteful and never took them.

“You don’t seem able to do much with the Force,” the Mandalorian observed dryly, watching her holding her hand out the way the Foundling did when using the Force.

He practically felt her gaze cut to him and stare him down.

“No offense,” he finished, a tone of amusement lingering.

“The Force is mysterious, Mandalorian. It does not bend to my will anymore than the solar winds bend to a sailor’s sunsails.”

He rolled his eyes underneath his helm. A Force-user chock full of mysterious sayings, how delightful.

“He’s hungry,” she stated calmly before turning and going below to fix the Child a meal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things go wrong, and Din and Valk learn a little more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to Chapter Two. This is where the plot and the relationship between the two pick up a little.

“The engines are overheating,” the Mandalorian said flatly. “We’ll have to drop to sublight to let them cool. The trip to Nevarro is going to take a little longer.”

They were sitting in the hold a sleep cycle later, Char had been rocking Grogu to sleep, when the ship had shuddered and dropped out of hyperspace. The warrior himself had appeared a few minutes later with the bad news.

The Child was finally asleep, and she lifted him and set him in his hammock. She turned and pulled a drawer open from its flush setting in the hull. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked as she rifled through the remaining provisions.

“Not particularly,” he said, rolling a spanner wrench across the table. It was easy to neglect his hunger when the need wasn’t very great.

She seemed to level a look at him. “I’ll make us something,” Char muttered and turned to select a meal for the rehydrator.

When it was finished, she portioned out his meal, and set it in front of him before moving to ascend the ladder with her own portion.

He lifted up the bottom of his helmet and lifted a forkful to his mouth, still mostly obscured under the edge.

“You truly never remove your helmet?” she asked, with one foot on the ladder.

“Never in the presence of another living being,” he replied after his bite.

“I have known of other Mandalorians, including those on Trask, who removed theirs,” she said, the question implied.

“It is my Creed. This is the Way. I haven’t seen you remove your mask either, Char,” he replied, returning the implied question.

“I have no creed. It’s a . . . . It’s a kind of armor,” she said, bringing her fingertips up to brush against the high cheekbone of the mask absentmindedly.

“Do you have to remove it to eat?” he asked, a hint of curiosity coming through the vocoder’s modulation. 

She paused from beginning her ascent, shaking her head.

“Well . . . , feel free to eat here,” he offered awkwardly, gesturing to the seat across from him. It was typically others extending the invitation to the aloof Mandalorian.

Slowly she returned to the tiny work surface cum table and lowered slowly onto the bench. She depressed a button on the corner of the jaw of her mask, and a thin crack appeared, widening at the lips and running back about five centimeters until it was wide enough for a cup or utensil to pass through comfortably. The mask fit snugly against Char’s face, so Din could see the soft pink of her lower lip. 

That small area of exposed skin, especially one which a Mandalorian helmet might also expose as he tilted it back to eat, drew him in. It felt like . . . companionship. And understanding. Both things that Din had been aching for ever since the culvert had been destroyed. Char didn’t follow the Creed, but she seemed to understand some facet of it that required him to wear his helm as she wore her mask.

They passed their meal quickly and quietly, and then Din returned to the cockpit. Char monitored the Child and cleaned and serviced her equipment to pass the time. 

Travelling through sublight seemed to stretch time out to twice its length. Char spent the time encouraging Grogu to use his Force abilities until he was lifting the ball above his head. Char was alternating between encouraging him to lift the ball and trying to lift it herself until she could get it to wobble about ten centimeters above her palm. 

There was a pulse of frustration that pounded in her core, and she breathed deeply to unwind it, while Grogu flicked his ears at her. 

She fed him and took him to the cockpit to visit with Din, who was closely monitoring space for pirates as they travelled sublight. 

Din handed the controls over to her for a while, so he could rest and use the ‘fresher.

Char let her abilities stretch out and relaxed into a light meditation to calm her earlier tumult. She could feel Grogu and the Mandalorian below in the hold, the particles of radiation brushing against the ship’s hull, and the larger currents and leylines of the Force, flexing and flowing out and around from planets and powerful Force sources. Grogu was getting sleepy where he was playing on the floor. The warrior was in the ‘fresher, and Char immediately diverted her attention elsewhere. Although she could sense his presence, the Mandalorian’s thoughts were obscure, very little to disturb the calm of his disciplined mind. The man was a curious enigma. Obviously, he was battle hardened with a difficult past, his armor spoke to that, but his tenderness with the Child was moving and exposed his compassion for children, especially orphans. She felt safe with him, in that she knew he was honorable and his mission was paramount to him, and the mission was the Foundling. Hurting her would not serve his purpose. He had exposed his vulnerability in the kid, and he had entrusted her in exchange with his safety. Her actions to protect them on Trask must have been sufficient for this trust.

The Mandalorian stepped out of the ‘fresher and was dressing, then he put Grogu into his hammock for a nap. He slid into his bunk, and before long they were both lost to unconsciousness. 

Several hours later, Din slipped into the compartment. He had mastered moving quietly long ago, especially within the Razor Crest. 

“Mandalorian, the engines have cooled. We may be able to continue in hyperspace now,” she said, smirking beneath her mask. 

If Mando had been the type of man to jump, her address to him might have made him jump. As it was, it rather amused him. It was not often that he travelled with another warrior, or one of her caliber.

How she had seen him arrive though would be a mystery to solve another time. 

She stood and let him pass to claim the captain’s seat. She sat in a passenger’s seat and watched as he checked on the ship diagnostics. 

“Alright, brace yourself. We’re making the jump to hyperspace,” he confirmed, pressing several buttons and flipping switches with precision, then pulled a lever back.

The spacefield outside the viewports streaked and became the blurry blue of hyperspace.

“I’m hitting the ‘fresher,” Char said before slipping down the ladder.

She let the hot water wash over her, enjoying the luxury instead of the sonic since the water tanks were amply filled on Trask. She finished and stepped out, retrieving her undersuit from the cleanser in the side of the cubicle. She tied her wet hair in a knot on the top of her head and pulled on her undersuit, it was still a little damp with the antiseptic fluid used to flush the clothes free of dirt and bacteria. She zipped up her boots, gathered her outer armored suit with attached pauldrons and cape, mask, and utility belt, and dropped the armored suit in what had been co-opted as her cabin. She slipped back down the ladder and rehydrated some food. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, already passing him a bowl of synthProat. 

“Thanks,” he replied off-handedly, taking the food, before seeming to realize her preemptiveness. “Does the Force tell you when it’s meal time?”

She gave an ironic huff, “No, that’s what my chrono is for.”

The Mandalorian gave a surprised laugh in return. He turned in the chair and appraised her.

He could certainly see her female human form through the black undersuit. He had seen naked women before, but the way her undergarment revealed and obscured in equal measures did something to him, deep in his core. It covered her from her midneck down to her wrists and even covered her feet, though he couldn’t see them beneath her black armored boots.

She was not much shorter than him, perhaps fifteen centimeters difference, and had an athletic body. Her black hair was tied up high, revealing the shaved sides of her head.

Her undersuit had a soft satin sheen to it, and he could trace the contours of her muscles where they bunched and flexed. Din briefly wondered if his own physique was visible under his thicker, padded undershirt and pants. 

“It’s still wet from the cleanser,” she said in way of explanation for her garb.

He nodded and swallowed.

She sat in the passenger seat and opened her mask along the jaw so she could eat as well.

They both tucked in and finished quickly. She retrieved the bowls and returned them to the galley area and put them in the washer. 

Grogu was still resting, so she returned to her area to rest herself.

She was awakened by an alarm coming from the flight deck. She strode in to see Mando flipping switches and swearing under his breath.

“Is it the engines again?”

“Kriff,” he toggled a switch back and forth rapidly to no effect. “Yes, they’ve overheated. Again. We need to drop back to sublight. We need repairs.”

“How long will it take at sublight to reach Nevarro?”

He sighed and dropped his head back against the backrest. “Too long. Double check the supplies, but I’m not sure we’ll have enough for another four days at sublight.”

“Do you think we can jump back to hyperspace in a couple hours?”

“Maybe,” he sighed. “But it’s risky. If we blow out the engines, we won’t be going anywhere, sublight or not.”

“What’s the nearest planet?” she asked, bracing herself. She wasn’t sure where they were after the intervals they had spent out of hyperspace, but she was sure it wasn’t anywhere near a major system.

Din sighed deeply, “Well. It’s not bad. The nearest system is Koiogra, but the only planet that looks like it’ll have anything close to a repair dock for the Crest is Koiogra V.”

Valk swallowed down a growl, “Koiogra V?”

“I didn’t say it was good either. What’s your scuff with Koiogra V?” Mando asked, cutting his eyes to her curiously under his visor.

“A pilot named Chass happened to me there,” she snapped, irritated all over again with how silly she had gotten over the Theelin with a mission. So much for happily ever after.

Din gave a low whistle, “Now that sounds like a story.”

Valk twitched and strode out of the cockpit. This was an area of her life where she was fiercely protective. For a while, she had really believed that her life could reclaim some normalcy. A family, a purpose without violence, love, happiness. They were all things that only made a person more bitter when they were torn away. Chass had been a bright light in the darkness that was Valk Charvha’s life. Valk really did not feel like revisiting the place where they had found each other or the memories that would permeate it even now. There were not very many times when Valk was glad that she couldn’t see, but she was grateful that she had never seen Chass’ face, especially as she had left her stranded on Koiogra. In Valk’s own ship. 

Chass would be a wound that would never heal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken elements from canon Star Wars and filled in the gaps where I could. So the process of washing clothes is not explicitly described anywhere, so an in-wall antiseptic fluid washer is my solution. If you see something and aren't sure what it is, feel free to ask!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you! Welcome to Chapter 3, and thank you for reading this far!

The Mandalorian’s boots hit the lower hold deck, startling Valk and Grogu from where they had been practicing again.

“Char, I’m sorry,” he began. “For earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you. We can land somewhere else,” he offered.

Valk huffed, “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. But we both know that there’s nowhere else within a dozen parsecs we could land.”

He made a noise of agreement and rattled around for a few minutes while the Child giggled at Valk’s attempts to send the ball to him. Din handed a bowl of broth to the kid, and a rehydrated meal to Valk. He sat at the table with his own portion and watched them on the floor. Char’s behavior was entirely at odds with the persona the facemask asserted. Its expression was disengaged and unapproachable, but with the kid, Char was soft and gentle, patient and playful.

“It looks like you’re both getting better at that,” he interjected, gesturing to where they were sitting, a meter apart, and passing the small metal ball back and forth. The Foundlings control was excellent, smooth with only a little rotation. Char’s returning passes were less so. The sphere wobbled and dipped as it flew to the Foundling.

She laughed softly as the ball dropped out of her control at his comment and said, “Yes, he’s teaching me. Slowly.”

Grogu cooed and babbled happily, pleased to be the center of attention. Char passed the broth to the kid, and picked up her own meal.

“Thanks for this,” she said, gesturing at him with a fork. It wasn’t tasty, but it certainly filled her up.

“It’s no problem,” he muttered, after a bite. He paused before continuing, “We’ll arrive in about 12 standard hours. I’d better get back up there. Travelling sublight is dangerous enough without disabled engines.”

“I’ll be up once he’s resting, Mandalorian.”

He heard her enter this time. Her steps sounded differently, and when he turned his pilot’s chair around, he can see why. She’d donned her armor, although it did not look like armor at first. Her pauldrons looked like woven metal, and her suit glimmered slightly. He could see faint outlines now where there were armored plates. 

She must have felt the weight of his gaze because she tapped on her breastplate, on the spot just over her heart, and explained, “Songsteel plates anchored in Phrik mesh.” She tugged on the fluttering, glittering material of her cape, “Synthmesh.”

The warrior gave another long low whistle, “Naturally.”

She took a few steps forward and gestured to his armor, asking, “May I? I’ve never felt beskar before.”

He nodded and replied, “It doesn’t feel that strange.” He was surprised when she tugged off her gloves and stepped in between his legs. 

She reached out with her right hand and traced the plane of his chestplate from the outer edge to the center. Then she laid both hands on his chest and splayed her fingers, so she could feel as much of the material as she could. Her fingers ran all over his cuirass before ghosting over his shoulders and inspecting his pauldrons in the same way. He could feel the acute pressure of her fingertip tracing his sigil on his right arm.

He watched warily as her hands lifted from his shoulders, uncertain of his precise reaction if she put her hands on his thighs. His body was taut, balanced between nervous and aroused energy. He could almost feel her fingers through the beskar, though it was likely his overactive imagination. His body was desperate for human contact. It had been much too long since another human had touched his bare skin, and he was so starved for the contact that he could barely breathe with her simulating on his armor what he so deeply craved.

Her fingers landed on his helmet instead, and his gut reaction was almost certainly worse than what it would have been if she had indeed stroked the beskar on his thighs. It had been nearly three decades since anyone had touched his face, and the sight of her hands passing over his helmet made him hot and weak all at once.

Reflexively he reached out to grab her wrists, realizing as he was doing so, that she was not trying to remove his helmet at all, simply tracing every contour. As he made contact with her, she froze, and then retreated, still leaving her arms in his grasp.

She rotated her arms outward, so his thumbs were pressed against the underside of her forearms, now facing up. “Curious material, isn’t it?”

He hummed quietly, trying to gather his thoughts, while he distractedly ran his thumbs across the black but softly shining mesh.

A few heartbeats later, her arms flexed under his fingers and she pulled them back. She replaced her gloves, and thumped his shoulder, chuckling, “My turn, Mandalorian. I can’t let you have all the fun up here.”

“Be my guest, Char” he replied dryly.

He just barely heard her mutter, “I already am, aren’t I?” Din Djarin couldn’t help but smile and laugh softly to himself.

A few hours later, Din arrived back on the flight deck with the Child in one arm, and two bowls of food in the other. Char stood and allowed him to take the seat, while she retrieved the Child and some more rehydrated glop from his arms. 

She began eating and feed the Foundling from her own spoon. After they had finished, he watched her strip off her gloves again. He felt his stomach swoop, thinking she was going to ask to continue inspecting his person. Instead, she stroked the kid’s head and ears, held his hand, and tapped his nose.

“You know nothing of childrearing, do you, Mandalorian?” she asked.

It sounded like she was about to critique him, and he gave a long exhale, before replying, “I have not raised other children, no.”

“Then you would not know that they require skintouch. It is important for babies and young children to have skin to skin contact, especially with their caregivers,” she said simply, defraying all the tension that he had built, expecting a confrontation.

“He’s fifty years old,” Din replied, at a loss for anything else, especially when confronted with the suggestion of _undressing_ and _physical contact_ were brought up after their last interaction, in which he had realized just how acutely he was craving it.

“That is young for his species still. See how well he likes it?” she pointed out, as she traced simple patterns on his face, his eyes half lidded and ears relaxed.

“Do you have children?” he asked before he had considered the question entirely.

She paused and her shoulders curved in a little, before she replied, “No. I am not a mother. The Child is simply good at telling me what he needs.”

Sensing there was more sadness here and not wanting to double down on what had transpired earlier, he asked the next thing that had been on his mind, “Why do you call me Mandalorian and never Mando?”

The Foundling was making happy, contented noises, and she continued her attentions to him while she responded, “It is a title, Mandalorian. It is disrespectful to abbreviate it.” She paused before continuing thoughtfully, “Mando also sounds like a name. It is not your name, so I do not wish to call you that.”

Din thought about telling her his name, but dismissed the idea almost as quickly. She was simply a passenger. Even if she could use the Force. Even if she was good with the kid. He was going to drop her on Nevarro, and they would part ways. There were very few people who knew his name, and he enjoyed the anonymity. He’d prefer to keep it that way.

“We should be arriving shortly. Stay in my bunk with the kid while I check on repairs and supplies. Keep the door closed. No emergencies, okay?” he said instead.

Without disturbing the kid, she straightened her spine, and deadpanned, “Sir, yes sir.”

He laughed, and said, “Don’t mock me.”

“Don’t make it so easy,” she replied, rising and taking the Child down to the lower deck.

Their landing was, to put it mildly, bumpy. The engines were in very rough shape, and he only barely got her set down in one piece. The port where he’d chosen to set down was one of the largest settlements and occupied several hundred hectares, sprawling in an oval shape of cleared forest. Koiogra V was a jungle planet half covered by water. Quetta was somewhere between a quiet city and a bustling port town, mostly filled with humans and friendly to the Republic.

He descended the ladder and was pleasantly surprised to see that all evidence of other beings on board had been neatly tidied away. The door to his bunk area was closed, but he banged on it twice.

“No one’s home,” Char called, before the door slid open.

Din tossed a comm into her lap. “For emergencies,” he explained.

“Oh, I already agreed to no emergencies,” she replied, laughing and shaking her head. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the switch and mouthpiece.

He tilted his head, giving her a look through his visor. She snickered and hit the button to close the cabin back up.

The Mandalorian walked down the ramp to a humid, rusty repair shop, fairly crawling with droids.

He heard a door slam somewhere within the shop structure, and what he thought was a Khils stepped out of the dim doorway into a shaft of light from the setting sun. He realized quickly that the being was too blue to be a Khils and must be a Koiogran.

“Eh Mando! What can I do for you?” he spluttered through his tentacles. 

“I need repairs. The engines are overheating in hyperspace. I also need good recommendations for a cantina and a supply shop,” he relied curtly.

The Koiograns tentacles writhed in a fidgety manner, making a clicking, wet sound. “A pre-war gunship like this . . . ,” he trailed off.

Din cut in, “The Razor Crest.”

“Yes, the Razor Crest. Well, those parts are awful hard to come by,” he said, regretfully.

“I have the credits to pay,” Din said, betting on money being the issue in question on a backwater planet like this.

The Koiogran chortled uncomfortably, “Oh certainly, certainly. No questioning of you being able to pay, Mando. Just don’t want to be promising repairs that aren’t possible.”

“Can you fix the engines or not?” he snapped, fear of being stuck here cutting short his patience.

“I can seeing about flushing your fluids and topping her off at least. I can contact a partsyard in Que’la, the next town over, seeing if they have what you need,” he replied, shuffling.

“No chance of that tonight?” Mando queried with not much hope.

“Even with the parts, it taking a few days. Nowhere much open now this late, except the cantinas and bars.”

“That’s fine,” he sighed. “Where do you recommend?”

“Nogra’s just up the road has fine food and drink. Tomorrow at 0800 standard time, Melk’s Supplies is opening up with fair prices and whatever any species is needing,” he supplied, gesturing vaguely.

Din gave a final definitive nod, and the Koiogran called out, “I’ll start diagnostics tonight, all’s I need is a port, no boarding access.”

Din pointed to a panel to the side of the exit ramp and he made a moist, affirmative noise. He closed up the ramp and sealed it for the night, and strode over to his cabin’s panel, giving it two raps.

It hissed and slid open to reveal Char rocking the Child who was sleeping.

He murmured softly, “There’s a cantina for dinner. No repairs until tomorrow at the earliest, and they may have to send for the parts.”

She carefully set the kid in his hammock and slid out of the compartment, closing it off so they could continue their conversation without waking him. 

She slid her gloves on and laced her fingers, working them back and forth in a small nervous motion, “How much would it cost to take me to Nevarro?”

“Nothing,” he said reflexively. After a moment to think, he continued, “You may have only asked to be dropped off at the next port, but I agreed to take you to Nevarro. This detour for my ship notwithstanding.”

Char straightened. “Thank you,” she replied, trying to convey her gratitude. She very much did not want to be stuck on Koiogra V. She had been so eager to get off Trask, she hadn’t thought that she might wind up on one of only a few planets out of thousands and thousands that held bad memories for her.

“It is nothing,” he replied again. “Are you hungry?”

She looked longingly at the bins that held their depleted stores, saying, “Yes, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken some liberties here with Koiogra V since there is not a lot on the various SW resources about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Valk reflect on the lives they'd wished they had, some sexual content happens; they have some dinner and prepare for the next chapter, literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to Chapter 4. Come on in, the water's warm.
> 
> Small trigger warning for some unintentional and incomplete voyeurism.
> 
> I have also continued to take liberties with the Star Wars universe. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and bookmarks!!

They walked down the ramp, their mantles fluttering limply in tandem in the hot, moist air. The shop owner visibly swallowed at the sight of the well armored, better armed pair. He volunteered the directions to Nogra’s with nothing more than a look from the Mandalorian. 

They passed through a tunnel onto a main thoroughfare. It was lined with places for food and drink and still bustling even as the light shifted from creamy orange to dusky violet. They strode down the wide road, beings parting on both sides for the Mandalorian with a fortune’s worth of shiny beskar plating and his corporeal shadow.

The smells emanating from Nogra’s certainly indicated edible fare. Din shared a look with the flat black eyes of Char’s facemask, and they proceeded inside. There was a crush of patrons around the bar lining the ride side of the space. There were a few free tables and two Bith were playing dueling Omni Boxes.

They ordered two hot meals and a liga of hot broth for the Child. As Char pushed down Din’s handful of credits and dug around in a pouch for a handful of her own, the crush of humans and Koiograns flowed around them.

“Char, do you want to eat here?” Din asked under his breath, skeptically.

“No, not really, Mandalorian,” she replied, pressed against his side, from thigh to shoulder, from the pressure of the crowd. The sensation sent a shiver down his back. Plenty of times he had felt the press of a body but usually only in combat. There was no combat, no violence here with her head canted against the pauldron emblazoned with his crest. 

They were handed a heated bag ladden heavily with foodstuffs. Din led the way back to the exit, Char trailing with the bag cradled in her arms.

Once they had made it onto the relatively quieter street, Char reached into the bag, and made an indulgent groan of pleasure.

Din looked at her in surprise as she pulled out a round of herbed thin bread.

“Koiogran Nee’an is the best Nee’an in the galaxy,” she exclaimed as she pressed the release on her mask and stuck the round of bread in her mouth, before fishing another one from the bag and holding it out for the Mandalorian.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, not entirely sure what Nee’an was or what constituted the qualifiers for ‘best in the galaxy.’ He surreptitiously looked around and, seeing that mostly everyone had disappeared into one or another of the cantinas, tipped up his helmet and took a bite. 

It was flavorful and drizzled with ocici oil, crispy on the outside but fluffy and warm in the middle. The Mandalorian had never had the physical or monetary security concurrently to develop a taste for finer food, but there was no doubting how delicious this was. It was savory and slightly spicy and aromatic all at once. He was nearly overwhelmed after the days of synthProat and Nutripaste, which were comprised of protein and nutrients and essentially nothing else. They were bland with a texture that left much to be desired, but Mando had been desperately starving too many times to pass up food that wasn’t exactly to his tastes.

He ate much too quickly, finishing the round in fourth huge bites. He swallowed, instantly regretting how fast he had eaten, yet having to admit to himself that there had been no chance of him eating any slower.

“Yeah,” she said, smug satisfaction radiating from her tone, “They really are that good.”

“Kriff, Char. How many of those did we get?” he was conceding defeat on this one, and yet defeat had never felt or tasted this good.

Her mask was canted down toward the parcel’s opening, “Never enough, Mandalorian. There’s never enough.” An ironic bitterness permeated her tone. 

Din laughed, a genuine, full bodied laugh. The sound seemed to surprise them both, but then the entrance to the repair shop was in front of them, and the moment was past.

Valk could feel Grogu still sleeping peacefully in Din’s cabin, so she set out her and Din’s meals and sealed up the broth in the insulated carrier. She unsealed the containers and slid over the Mandalorian’s.

She also handed him three of the five remaining pieces of Nee’an.

“You take the extra,” he said, his voice carrying warmer radiance without the helmet’s vocoder modulating it entirely.

“No, please. It’s yours. I’ve had my share of Nee’an, but it’s your first time. Indulge a little,” she said, waving a hand dismissively as she giggled. The memories of Chass didn’t seem so close or painful at this moment.

He tore the round in half and held one half up to the gap in her mask when she opened her mouth to protest. She bit into it and growled at him, shaking a fist unconvincingly.

“I’m not one to indulge,” he said, a hint of humor leaking through the synthesized sound of his voice. 

She finished her required bite, and explained that this dish was eaten with the bread and their hands. They each slipped off their gloves and tucked into their dishes of rice and vegetables with large chunks of stewed meat. They wiped up the sauce with the Nee’an and their fingers were oily and smeared with sauce when they finished.

Valk absently licked the spicy, tangy sauce off a finger, and Din watched raptly from under his visor. The sight of her tongue between the dark lips of the mask, licking along the length of the digit sent a bolt of lightning down to the base of his spine. She gave the same treatment to several fingers, and then she stood, taking her empty containers to the disposal and washing her hands. 

Din attempted to rise as well, but he realized that he was hard under his padded pants. He swore quietly to himself and sat back down. It had been far too long since he’d tended to some of his more complicated human needs. There were times when he wished they wouldn’t exist to distract him, but they were part of what made him human, made him feel normal, as much as his past made him feel otherwise. Although he very much did not need the reminder now, of all times. 

“Here,” she murmured, cleaning up his dishes as well and bringing him a wet rag. The Child burburbled from the hammock, and she set him on her hip.

Din’s visor seemed to malfunction as he suddenly saw Char in a simple but well-appointed, homey kitchen,  _ his child,  _ on her hip. She was cleaning up from a home-cooked dinner, flavors from his childhood washing over him. She was turning and beckoning him into the living room with a hand bearing a ring of beskar. He turned to focus on her face, but it was blurry, the soft smile of peony pink lips the only distinct feature.

He blinked hard several times and the vision disappeared. His parents had modeled a family that he had also wanted in a vague way as a young boy. Then he had been adopted by the Tribe. Mandalorians cherished family, and this must have been just a wayward desire for that. He had never found the right person among the covert nor among those he had travelled with. The ease with which Char had fallen into a routine with him and his charge must be renewing some dream of a family that he had always yearned for.

Char, the real Char with her mask still in place, had her fingers against her temple and was slightly shaking her head, as if ridding herself of a bad idea.

She turned toward him then and wished him a goodnight before disappearing up the ladder, singing softly to the kid.

&|&

Neither Valk nor Din were much used to sleeping more than a few hours at time, but Valk passed the extra time with Grogu, feeding him, practicing with the ball, and cuddling the small green child against bared neck and shoulders.

Valk was watching a napping Grogu and was working on her Force control when she felt Din awaken. She was deep within the Force and could feel him more acutely than usual. He had a tension, an urgency, rippling across his calmness that alerted her to something wrong. At first, Valk believed it had to do with returning to Nevarro, but the feeling was softer and warmer with less anxiety.

She explored the feeling a little more, curious to its strong effect on the stoic man. She felt the feeling peak and become more poignant and heated. She felt a bolt of heat lance down her spine and pool low in her stomach. She was entirely detached from everything else, fully immersed in the whirl of sensations. The heat intensified, filling her torso, her hands and face, sweat beading on her brow, until it burst into pure pleasure. She felt her hand, his hand, stroke roug-

She realized what was happening and wrenched away from the Force, pulling herself free. She felt flushed and profoundly uncomfortable with what she had almost witnessed. She worked to release the emotions and sensation prickling through her. 

She had to admit to herself that there was a contentment that had stolen over her these last few days, living with Din and caring for the Child. It was normalcy. It was something that she had once dreamt of as a child. She had thought about and planned her wedding with her friends, who had dreamt as big as she had. Whereas theirs were mostly dreams, her wedding as the heir-apparent and princess would have been every bit as elaborate and ostentatious as she had dared to imagine, and then some. As monarch, she would have married and started a family and ruled. Now, her path still seemed to take her from that happiness time and time again. She had very much given up on that future. 

Until Din Djarin. Whose name she should not rightly know, except that it was all through his thoughts tonight. It seemed to permeate everything below the tranquil surface of his warrior’s mind. He had felt a powerful urge for companionship and transparency that had permeated the warmth of his earlier feelings. 

Finally unable to pull herself away, she left Grogu sleeping and slipped down the ladder as quietly as possibly to use the refresher. 

After a cold trip in the ‘fresher, she stepped out to see Din climbing through the door of his cabin. She felt herself flush anew under her restored mask and undersuit. She was pulling on the upper half of her armored suit as she came face to face with the Mandalorian in the tight space of the lower hold deck.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he rasped, tilting his helmet at her.

“What time is it?” she replied, sidestepping his question, because she happened to know he wasn’t sleeping and why.

“About 0600. I’ll feed the Child,” he offered, moving to reheat some of the leftover broth.

She brought him down from her cabin, happily cooing to her and then to the Mandalorian. Din took him from her arms, while she ascended for another nap.

An hour and a half later, she woke to the sound of the refresher and made her way back to the hold. Grogu sent the ball floating to her, and she sent it back to him, only a slight wobble now. Grogu radiated approval and joy, and she basked in it. 

Din emerged, strapping on his bracers, and Valk began settling the Child for a nap.

They were both interrupted by a banging on the outside of the Crest. Valk heard Din issue a sigh and hit the controls to lower the ramp. 

The Koiogran was outside, disconnecting the diagnostic cable. 

“Good morning, Mando,” he said peering into the ship where Valk was standing, nearly invisible in the shadows.

“Can you get the parts?” Din cut to the point. 

“Well, there’s a yes and a no to that question,” he said, his tentacles twitching. “Que’la has the parts, but there’s none there to bring them.”

“What does that mean?” the Mandalorian asked sharply, his fingers curling reflexively with frustration.

“The paths through the jungle being dangerous, only few volunteer to cross to Quetta. There’s no one to bring the parts. Unless you . . . ,” he trailed off.

“Unless I go get them.”

The Koiogran’s tentacles writhed, “Seeing as there’s two of you . . . . I’d recommend that it be a two person job.”

Din mulled this over. He wasn’t sure there was another choice, but if Char had to accompany him, then they would have to bring the child, and that made him nervous.

“How far is it? What makes it so dangerous?” He questioned the Koiogran.

“You could be in Que’la tomorrow. There are Xius who are deadly hunters. They prowl the paths, knowing there are easy prey, travellers, passing through.”

“What will we need?” Din asked, mentally tallying the supplies they needed to take them the rest of the way to Nevarro, and factoring in another three or four days worth.

“Asiding weapons and food, an equipment sledge, which I be loaning you. A way to make fire also helpful,” he answered, his pale blue-green fingers stroking his face. He described the way to the Melk’s Supply, before turning to prepare the sledge.

Din nodded and ascended the ramp to find that Char had already strapped the child to her back, beneath her mantle. She was carrying her bag, clearly having overheard the conversation, and had readied to depart. 

They set out to the supply depot, slipping through the early morning crowds. They were of different sort to Quetta’s nighttime energy.

Din lost sight of Char as she moved through the shop, shelves stacked high on all the walls with a modest variety of dehydrated meals, medkits, spare parts, and tropical survival gear. 

He grabbed a crate and began filling it, watching as Char passed by occasionally and dropped an extra tube of antiseptic fluid or refresher wash. She seemed to be resupplying herself as well, her arms full of assorted wares.

She showed up with her pack much fuller and slung around her front to help him lug the crate to the proprietor, presumably Melk. 

Char threw down some credits along with his, and they made their way back to the ship, each hauling the box by one handle, swinging between them with each stride. 

The Koiogran, who based on his shop’s sign was likely named Cleega, had the sledge ready. An astromech in the port at the rear beeped cheerfully, maintaining a constant height; the sledge’s repulsorlifts in low-power mode. Din and Valk dropped the crate inside, and Din set about loading several day’s worth of supplies into a large shoulder sack. Valk grabbed a few extra blankets and loaded them in a thin chest before taking it out to the sledge with the Child and her own bag. The Mandalorian followed them both shortly.

He sent a few commands to the Razor Crest, locking out the navigation system and history banks, but left it unlocked for Cleega to do what he could.

He called for the droid to lead the way, and they set out, waving to the Koiogran as they disappeared down the tunnel and set out down the streets of Quetta, heading to the forest’s edge all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have about 15k words written, and the bulk of the next section has some violent content. I'll post trigger warnings, but if that's not something you want to read, then be on the look out for those! 
> 
> After the violence is going to come some softness, of course, so stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Valk set out to fetch the repair parts and encounter danger on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Capitulo Cinco has arrived. 
> 
> I'm still trying to find a beta, so belated and future apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> Content warning for violence and spider-like creatures.

Sweat had soaked through Din’s padded layers and was running down the back of his neck and back. He had been hot before, Nevarro’s lava fields and Tattooine’s deserts, but few times in his life had he been subjected to this moist, oppressive heat. Even the Foundling was sitting as still as ever by the droid in the aft of the barge. Char was walking ahead of them, her light cape hanging limp. He had long since shed his own and stashed it with his thick cowl in the chest with the blankets. He scanned the foliage on either side of the rutted path for movement, but there was none. His gaze returned again to Char. He was trying, with little success, to put aside the thoughts that had taken hold of him this morning. He had woken up, and despite everything he’d done to rid himself of the thoughts from dinner, he was hard as a rock under his layers. He had tried every trick in his book, but as the need to reach release swelled, he had given in and pushed down his trousers. The feeling had been exquisite. He had drawn it out until the memory of Char, standing between his legs, touching him, his face, imagining what that might feel like on his bare skin, overwhelmed him, tipping him over the edge unexpectedly. His climax had been so powerful, he was unable to see or move for several moments, just breathing and feeling his pulse pound through his body, riding out the waves of pleasure as they left him on their shores.

Every time he looked at her, he could feel his body temperature tick up, but he couldn’t not look at her either. He knew so little about her, yet he felt an ease in their partnership that he had rarely felt before.

Valk could feel the weight of the Mandalorian’s gaze. It felt heavy on her skin and set her skin tingling and tightening. She was not used to being scrutinized like this. She was used to people dismissing her as nothing more than a terse hired-hand. Already he had seen more of her than she was used to. The armored oversuit she wore obscured her form with its thick, reinforced plates, and layers of padding. Her mantle further disguised her shape. It had been half a dozen years, since anyone had seen her in her undersuit or less. The ghost feeling of Chass’ hands running over her suit, slowly unzipping it, and slipping her hands inside, stroking along her ribcage, overwhelmed her for a beat or two. She pulled herself back to the present and sent her senses roaming out amongst the many lifeforms surrounding them.

They ate some ProtiBars as they walked. The sledge was set to its highest speed, which was no more than a brisk pace for the two warriors. The jungle plants were shades of carmine and vermilion, veined with a pale coral color. The breaks in the canopy let the hazy orange light from the atmosphere filter down to glint off the waterdrops slipping down leaves and splashing into puddles. Insects droned and chirped from their perches on branches and as they flew in clouds past the two of them.

It was terribly boring. Din briefly wanted a Xiu to show up for some action, but he quickly banished the thought. It did not do to borrow trouble. 

Din figured he might as well ask now, “What are these Xius anyway?”

Char tilted her mask over her shoulder toward him, “Have you ever seen a Nexu?” 

“Uh, yeah. Once or twice maybe,” he tried to recall, vague memories of a sort of feline creature came back to him. About as long as he was tall, a mouthful of teeth, and a ridge of spines down its back; they didn’t make for good memories.

“Well, they’re like that except they are covered in scales, and they can unhinge their jaw. And only one tail,” she replied. She paused, then added, “I think they might be bigger too.”

“Oh, is that all?” he rasped, her words painting a visceral image.

“Yeah. Did he mention the orbki?” she asked off-handedly, turning back to face forward.

“No. Do I want to know?” he returned a question for hers, feeling like this trip was a mistake more and more each minute.

She replied cryptically, “Depends if you’re afraid of spiders,” and tilted her head up towards the canopy.

He shuddered, and cursed softly, “Shab. Fierfik those Mon Calamari.”

A few hours later the light shifted from bronze to dusky violet, and Char loped ahead to see if there was anywhere to set up a camp. Din’s hand rested fully on his blaster as her mantle flicked and disappeared into the dimming light. With his other hand, he cycled through his optical setting until he selected the thermal imaging and could trace her red steps into the distance. His worry climbed higher until he saw a faint red shape that became larger and larger.

He toggled back to regular optics as she neared the front of the sledge.

She called out, “The waystation isn’t standing any longer. It’s been mostly reclaimed by the jungle. It’s not far, so we could continue on a little farther and camp on the far side.”

He nodded his assent, and they continued through the droning insects and breeze-ruffled leaves. Din assessed the ruins of the waystation as they passed. It looked like it had once been a simple but well-maintained building of sand colored stone. Now two of the walls had collapsed inward and there were vines woven through the stonework of the structure. The entire place looked sad and abandoned. It felt like a place not meant to be discovered again, left instead to be slowly eaten up by the dripping, buzzing jungle.

He shook off his unease and scanned the sides of the path, noting that as the temperature had dropped, a wind had kicked up, creating phantom movement through the underbrush.

About fifty meters further, after the waystation was swallowed up once again, Char called a halt.

“I think we should stop here. Try to get a fire going if we can with all this water and the wind,” she advised, gesturing over her shoulder dismissively.

“Could we sleep in shifts and keep going?” Din suggested.

She replied “We could, but fire is about the only thing that keeps the critters away. We would have to walk with torches.” 

“I’m not seeing the downside,” he said flatly.

“If you’ve never held a torch until your arm nearly falls off because you can’t shoot with your off-hand, then I suppose you wouldn’t,” she suggested flatly.

He mulled this over for a moment, considering that he certainly was not the sharpest shot with his left hand, and even less so if it was fatigued from carrying something.

“Fine, let’s camp here.”

She nodded, grabbed an empty sack, and stepped to the edge of the path. “I’m going to collect as much dry wood as I can find. If I don’t return in an hour, light the beaconCannister in my bag and continue on to Que’la and don’t stop for anything. In fact, take off with the kid and come back for the sledge in the daylight.”

A moment or two passed before she asked harshly, “Okay?”

He replied, feeling a little resigned, tired of people having to lay themselves down for him and the kid, “Okay.” 

She disappeared into the trees.

Less than an hour later, she reappeared with a sack of rotting and pungent, but dry, wood. She set about with some equipment from her things and chose a place in the middle of the path. She carefully built up a platform with dry soil and stones, then arranged the wood on top. Finally, she lit it and directed the barge pilot to face toward Que’la, with the droid and Grogu in the rear, closest to the fire. 

“We should sit and rest on the sledge. Plenty of insects will pass over the ground underneath us,” she pointed out.

He nodded and climbed onto the rear of the barge, settling the Child where he could keep an eye on him. He shifted the chest so there was also room for Char.

He tapped the side of his helmet, cycling through the optics until he selected a filter that would preserve his night vision. He looked sideways at Char, wondering what tech her facemask contained.

He gestured with two fingers toward the fire, “What about your night vision?”

“Not an issue,” she replied tersely.

“Ah, more Jedi tricks?” he asked, and he moved his elbow a very few centimeters to knock against her arm companionably.

She rubbed her mask absentmindedly and replied, “Something like that,” and lapsed into silence.

Din was comfortable with silence. His life was filled with silences, long ones, alone ones, and empty ones. But this was a different kind of silence. There was a small current of unease, of secrets and reserved trust, but it was overwhelmingly a silence of companionship. It was simple and easy, and despite the danger, the Mandalorian found himself relaxing into the discomfort of the barge and the clicks and whirs of insects hovering just outside the sphere of the firelight.

“I’ll take first watch,” she offered and patted his left cuisse. The entirety of his focus was drawn to his thigh for the length of a heartbeat. The moment passed, and he gave a jerky nod and lay back, his knees still bent over the sledge’s edge.

A few hours later, the Mandalorian sat up, tapped Char’s arm, and let her lay down. 

Valk jerked awake some time later and sat up, trying to follow the sensation that had warned her to danger. 

Din looked around, alarmed at her sudden movement, searching for danger, but finding none.

She felt a prickle across the back of her neck and jerked her head upward, laying her fingers on the sharp throwing blades holstered at her waist.

He followed her gaze and quickly switched on the light on the side of his helmet. He wondered at how cloudy the night sky was. He peered closer, only to suck in a breath when he realized that what he had mistaken for clouds were actually thickly woven webs

And dripping down from those webs in the hundreds were six-legged insects with bodies the size of his fist. They were a sickly pale yellow or green in color, and their light blue eyes glinted in the beam of his light. He could make out a mouth lined with sharp spines, dripping tiny drops of fluid.

He unholstered his blaster and muttered, “Is now a good time to start shooting?”

“Yeah, now’s good,” she replied, slipping four throwing stars into her fingers.

Quick as lightning, his blaster was up and red streaks were cutting through the darkness, dropping the smoking, twitching orbki bodies to the ground. 

As they dropped closer, Char flicked her fingers, sending her three-pointed blades spinning, slicing upwards into thick, shining abdomens. She replenished her stars, keeping two in each hand, moving faster than even the Mandalorian’s trained eyes could track.

The bodies fell with a sound like ripe fruit dropping, and Din swallowed a noise of disgust. He pulled himself firmly to the present, continuing to release volley after volley. 

They had the advantage in numbers however, and they were dropping nearly faster than they could keep up with them. Soon, Char had unsheathed two knives, each the length of her forearm and was cutting down any that crept with her range. She stood over Grogu, and frequently had to clear the deck of the sledge of the ones that had dropped on board and were creeping nearer.

Din Djarin lost himself to the reflexes that guided his hand. He felt a calm roll over him, and his aim, already kriffing good, sharpened to a surgical precision, and the time it took to re-aim and pull the trigger dwindled to nearly nothing. 

Even as this combat focus consumed him, he glanced to the side and watched with a detached fascination as the edges of Char seemed to fade to nothingness, as she twisted and flicked her blades as fast as he was firing. Whatever hyperfocus Din had slipped into, seemed to work in tandem with Char’s, they twisted and struck back to back, seamlessly. When he leaned to reach for a shot, she was there in the space he had left, blades shimmering as they pierced and separated thoraxes from abdomens.

Eventually, their arms tiring, throbbing, the Mandalorian raised his forearm and activated his flamethrower, dousing the insects spiraling towards them in a gout of fire.

Their shrieks cut through the night, but then there were none but the few clinging to the sledge’s side, which Char dealt with in a flurry of knives.

They stood there, breathing heavily, feeling the battle rush draining away. In the quietness left after Din’s blaster had been reholstered, they could hear the soft hiss and pop of their fire and the burning orbki bodies. They could also hear a sickening crunching and dragging, the wet noises of chewing.

Din made the mistake of glancing down to see a writhing carpet of insects and creatures, feasting on the orbkis. He swallowed down his nausea and helped Char clear the barge before they settled back down in their seats. He clicked off his spotlight and hunched forward, stretching his cramping back muscles.

Valk lay back down, rolling her wrists and cracking her knuckles. Din blinked as she began to fill in, becoming more solid, certain he was seeing something in the aftermath of the adrenaline.

“Don’t you carry a blaster?” he asked, curious now as to why she had only used knives.

She responded simply, “No, I can’t use one.”

He twisted around to look at her, and offered, “Well, I could teach you, if that’s the issue.”

“I don’t think you can teach me. But I would be willing to let you try, if only so I can get a laugh out of it,” she chuckled dryly.

“You’re a good warrior. Have some confidence,” he said, trying to encourage her.

“I don’t think any amount of confidence will fix my e- . . . will fix my issues with a blaster,” she snapped, before rolling on to her side, curled around the Foundling, turning her back to him, and ending their conversation.

He sat until the sky began to warm from indigo to teal and then to a hazy morning gold. The webbing was nearly invisible with the light streaming down from above. 

Char stirred and stretched; Din’s eyes were drawn to the long lines of her as her arms reached overhead and her toes flexed. He drew his gaze away.

“Rest in the barge while I walk this morning,” she offered, tossing him a bar for breakfast. She stood and dropped over the side of the sledge. She dumped dirt over their fire and booted up the pilot droid. 

Din bit into the bland ProtiBar and fed some pieces to the kid when he cooed at him. Char was walking behind him in the barge, watching the sides of the jungle.

She walked in silence for several hours while Din napped before the forest thinned and spilled them out into the cleared outskirts of Que’la.

They followed Cleega’s directions, loaded on a datacard, leading them through the bricked roads of Que’la to the parts lot a few hundred meters away from the treacherous pathway.

Din passed the datacard over to the parts shop owner, who stuck it in a data tablet. The thickset human grunted and directed the droid into the maze of parts. 

When he returned, the barge was riding lower and heavily laden with all manner of components. Din handed him a small satchel of credits, and they turned and headed for the path back through the jungle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return journey is up next! 
> 
> Thank you in advance for kudos!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Char brave the return trip through the jungle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, definitely a violence content warning here. There is blood, injuries, and mention of death and loss in here.
> 
> It's a double length chapter since there's not a super great place to cut it off without a cliff hanger.
> 
> There is some quality cute stuff in here to balance out the other stuff though. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Din Djarin personally promised himself he was never setting foot on Koiogra V again and certainly never another jungle planet if he could help it. His layers were soaked through with sweat, and he was thinking of the Razor Crest’s refresher longingly.

The sledge was moving much slower, and after an hour pacing alongside the barge, Char strode forward to walk alongside the warrior.

“You wanna bet on my blaster skills?” she asked cheekily. Whatever companionship and ease she had enjoyed the last night, before Din had come very close to striking Valk’s weakness and insecurity, she was eager to regain. 

“I think that’s a loaded bet, Char,” he replied. “But here,” he took her right hand with his left, and used his other hand to press his blaster into it. He urged her to the side, out of the barge’s path, and pointed to a thick trunk on the other side of the rutted track. The track was about ten meters wide.

The barge trundled past, and Din said, “Aim for the trunk, just above the knot.”

Char lifted the blaster, Din’s hands cupping her elbows, directing her. She pulled the trigger, and the shot went wide, disappearing into the jungle.

“Oof,” he huffed, the metallic tone overlaying his voice making her toes curl. “Try widening your stance. Breathe out while you pull the trigger.”

She reset her posture, and Din’s foot tapped against the inside of her calf, urging her to step out a little more.

“Now breathe,” he rasped. Following his order was a feat for Valk with the feeling of him pressed flush against her, the cool flat of his breastplate bracketing her shoulders.

She let go of the breath she had been holding and again squeezed the trigger. It went high and wide this time, disappearing into the upper foliage of the canopy.

“I wasn’t kidding, Mandalorian,” she replied. She could feel the blaster and feel the tree trunk, the former heavy with death and the latter pulsing with energy. But she couldn’t align the two accurately. She had a hard time sensing blaster fire as it was, it moved so fast and had very little Force feedback to sense. It was usually the sound of the gun and the effect of it as it passed through air and into flesh or metal or stone. She was nearly overwhelmed by Din’s presence thrumming and alive behind her which was sufficient distraction as it was. The cool surface of his mind was so close, she nearly felt it pressed along the borders of her own. What had happened last night, when she had felt the Force take her over, and then she had felt him join her in that flowing, selfless state. Valk felt very close to that again, and it was intoxicating.

“I see that now,” he laughed, and then continued, “One more time, you’ve got this.”

“You want to put money on that?” she huffed, as he ran his hands up and down her arms, shivers following in their wake, adjusting her positioning minutely. Weapons really were his religion, and he used them reflexively and intuitively, like they were simply extensions of his hands.

She sighed and pulled the trigger. There was a screech from the tree and a thud.

“Were you aiming for that?” he asked, irony rolling through his vocoder.

“I wasn’t aiming for anything, but sure,” she giggled.

“Kriff, Char, please don’t tell me you had your eyes closed the whole time?” he queried incredulously, shocked that she had so little blaster experience. Most of the weapons were made to be easy to pick up and use, and they were a tool for many for simple protection. 

He felt her shrug, and he began disentangling from her, “I used the Force,” she said it like a question. 

“Okay, no more blasters for you,” he said.

“I told you. I wasn’t going to say it, but it does feel good,” she responded, smirking.

They were laughing as they caught up to the barge. 

“Have you ever fought with a blade?” she asked curiously.

In response, Din bent to his side and pulled his vibroblade from his calf sheath. He tossed it, the knife spinning end over end and caught it, sliding it back into its sheath in one smooth motion.

“You are very good with a blade. Where did you learn? It’s not a widely practiced skill anymore.”

“My parents’ Captain of the Guard first taught me to fight with a knife. Blasters were banned in my city,” she elaborated. She felt her feet shift under her as she thought about explaining her history that led up to that moment. All the pain and betrayal tied up in it. She knew she couldn’t do it. Not now, maybe not ever. Even with Chass, and the long quiet mornings spent softly talking after nights full of passion, she was still afraid to be vulnerable that way.

“Eventually a Kaleesh refugee, Muhnta jai Allai, took me in and trained me.” She reached up and touched the high cheekbone of her facemask, “This was a parting gift from him.”

“The Kaleesh never remove their masks, right?” Din asked softly, trying to remember what he knew about the garrulous race.

“Almost never, yes. Muhnta taught me how to fight with their Shoni spears, once we learned I’d never be able to handle a blaster. I found my naginata about a year after I left him,” she murmured, unclipping it and spinning it around smoothly. She held it out to him.

Din took the weight of the staff, feeling the balance, and examining the bladed end. The entire length was shoulder-height on Char and the blade was about the length of his thigh, roughly 45 centimeters long. The staff was smooth and black, light but quite strong. 

He nodded and commented, “This is certainly a formidable weapon.” He handed it back, and she returned it to her back.

They lapsed back into silence as they continued to plod along. Grogu babbled and cooed from the sledge every now and then, and they each took to pointing out to him curious creatures, iridescent insects, and colors as they passed.

The light began to dim as the time approached midday, and Din looked up to see dark clouds rolling in.

“Looks like we’re in for rain,” he remarked.

“Dank farrik. If Mandalorians have gods, start praying now,” Char replied flatly.

“Is there no limit to the misery on this planet, Char?” he asked rhetorically.

She tilted her head to him, the flat eyes of her mask piercing him. “No,” she said.

He sighed, and the first few drops plinked onto his helmet.

Din kept an eye on his chrono since he could no longer tell the passing of time with the rainclouds continuing to obscure the sky. The rain continued relentlessly until Din and Char were soaked all over again. They propped some of the parts up to keep the water off the Child.

Mud was splattered everywhere, up to their thighs, and they had shed their capes to keep them from continuing to get caked with mud. 

The day passed at a fraction of the speed of the barge, but finally Din realized that full night was only an hour away.

“How are we going to start a fire?” Din asked finally.

“We aren’t. We’ll have to keep moving. At least if we keep moving, we make less of a target,” she replied grimly.

“Great,” he muttered.

They continued plodding through the mud and puddles, increasingly miserable the longer their wet clothes chafed against them.

Night came on, and they traded out sitting on the front of the barge to rest, but neither of them could really relax as the rustling sounds from the foliage increased beyond what could be reasonably attributed to rain. 

Valk felt the Xius close in all around them. They were panting, breathing in their scents, and vibrating with hunger and violence.

“Mandalorian,” she called.

“I see them,” he cut her off, the optics on his helmet already picking out the Xius through the shifting leaves.

He unholstered his blaster, and she readied her bladed spear. She ran her hand over her throwing blades, all four that were left. Her knives were sheathed on either side of her waist, but their range was much too short for effective defense against the Xius, whose clawed limbs were as long as her arm and their teeth were at least seven centimeters long.

Valk let herself sink deeply into a meditative state, letting the Force guide her hands.

The first Xius set thickly clawed feet onto the bare mud of the path. Their body weight shifted onto their forelegs, and they eased out from the leafy coverage of the underbrush.

Valk began easing toward the aft of the barge where the Mandalorian was standing guard over the Child and the pilot droid. He was taking measured paces to keep even with the sledge’s pace. Grogu had tucked himself deeper into a nook created by several sheets of blast-proof rated metal and a compressor and waves of building fear were radiating from him, picked up from Char and Din as they readied for battle.

Valk was about halfway back along the barge when Din’s first shots reverberated through the rain-drenched darkness. The shearing sizzle of red laser bolts ionizing the air as they lanced towards their targets and struck with a hiss and the scent of carbonized Xiu startled Valk, setting her nerves on edge.

Her body was strung tight with the anticipation of battle, and she flexed her hands on her naginata’s staff, the pads on her gloves gripping firmly.

She felt the Xiu prepare to launch itself out of the overhanging tree a moment before it flexed its hindlegs and made the leap directly toward her.

Her blade came up, parallel to the creature’s centerline just below its breastbone, slicing through its abdomen, and it followed the reptile’s arc, boosting its momentum to launch it, bleeding and dying over Valk and the barge to the far side, where its tangential velocity released it from her blade, before it struck the muddy ground with a splash.

The next Xiu was already charging at her from the underbrush, and her staff was already swinging back down in a half circle starting from above her head and arcing out toward to the right before completing the semicircle at knee height, blade edge pointing down and slicing the Xiu’s head from its torso. Her staff pivoted and sliced out to the right at waist height to separate the top hemisphere of a third Xiu’s head from its lower half. Her sword tip pierced the ocular socket of a fourth as it came at her from the left. She continued shifting through the thick, squelching mud, moving to help Din where he was firing as fast he could, fending off the bulk of the attackers, clustered around the rear of the sledge.

Her naginata sliced and flashed, the Force pushing her strikes harder and faster, even as the Xius continued flinging themselves from the edges of the jungle, snarling and hungry.

Din was activating his flame thrower when he saw Char come up on his left. He fired his jetpack, using the boost to pull him free from the sucking mud and jump onto the back of the sledge. His extra height let him fire on the Xius farther out while Char below him kept the creatures out of the five foot radius of her naginata. 

He felt the hyperfocus of the night before begin to settle over him, his reaction time speeding up and his aim becoming impeccable even at the very limit of his blaster’s distance range. Char’s blade became a blur, and even through his infrared optical filter, Char’s silhouette began to fade until there was barely a glow of yellow where the red shape of her body had been.

He felt in a distant part of his brain concern over her dropping body temperature in the rain, but he also sensed her just in front of him, moving with deadly speed. Perhaps her armor was simply superior at cooling under stress. Her presence felt powerful and confident, not in peril at all, but he couldn’t exactly describe how he sensed it. His concern faded away until there was nothing but the glint of four deadly eyes flashing red in the reflected light of his blaster shots.

The cleared track through the forest echoed and trembled with the dying screams of the reptiles as dozens fell to blaster bolts and spear thrusts. 

Valk was deep in a Force trance when she felt the Xius creeping toward her from under the moving barge. They were sliding through the mud, slipping along like river cylinae, pressed down by the force of the repulsorlifts. 

The first one to reach her took an advantageous lunge and sunk its teeth into her calf, its needle thin teeth lancing through the Phrik mesh. As much as the Force veiled her with darkness, wreathing her in shadows, it couldn’t protect her from tangible teeth dripping with saliva.

Din felt a shudder ripple through air as Char grunted with surprise and pain and lost the deadly rhythm she had maintained. She growled and unsheathed a knife with her left hand and dropped down, sinking it hilt deep in the Xius unfortunate skull. 

She wrenched it free and still kneeling, sent her naginata lancing into the ocular sockets and throats of the half dozen Xius slinking toward her. Din had to adjust his shots to cover her back while she was crouched halfway up her shins in mud.

She stood with a stagger and turned to slash at the belly of a Xiu who was launching itself from the branches of a nearby tree. The wound in her calf spasmed as she straightened, and her strike missed. It crashed into the Mandalorian shrieking and snapping, its claws scratching his beskar and its teeth clicked and slid across against his helmet. The Mandalorian fired his flamethrower into the reptile’s belly. It gave a scream and dropped off the side of the sledge, but another was already leaping at him from where it had climbed atop the pile of parts.

Valk was standing with most of her weight on her uninjured leg and had a knife in her free hand. The circle her naginata had cleared had collapsed in the vital minutes she had taken to clear the underside of the sledge, and the Xius were coming in closer, so she needed the extra defense.

The Xiu smashed into Din, who was trying to retrieve his vibroblade. He was bringing the flamethrower nozzle to bear, when another leapt from the trees. 

The first’s foreclaws caught on the top of his jetpack whilst his hindclaws sank into his back just above his kidneys under his jetpack, and the other had its claws raking down his arm.

Valk’s body lit up with his pain, transmitted through their Force focus. She twisted and sent her spear blade into the belly of the one hanging on his arm. It whined and dropped off the sledge with a crunch. The one on his back took the vibroblade to its side, it jerked and scrabbled at his back and breastplate before slipping to the side.

Three snarling Xius converged on Valk, and Din squeezed off two shots, the third falling with her knife in its eye.

Char was struggling to keep up with the sledge with the cluster of Xius now frantic with the scent of both their blood in the air. She fought her way back, her muscles trembling now from the force of driving blades through flesh over and over again. Finally she reached the aft edge, and Din reached down his left hand, hauling her up with a grunt. She kept her knees bent, unbalanced and shivering with her leg weeping hot blood down into her boot, and kept the creatures wise now to the advantage of height away with her bladed spear.

Din resumed firing, his aim shaky with fatigue and blood loss and the throbs of pain from his back. His back injuries would be quite urgent if the Xius trickling out from the foliage weren’t so much more so. He tried to push the thought of sepsis and blood poisoning from his mind, but there was no chance of administering bactaspray any time soon, if either of them had thought to pack it. He couldn’t remember if he had. He couldn’t remember what he had paid for the parts or what they were for. Why were they even here? He shook his head and squeezed off a few more shots. How many of these things had he even killed? Would it ever be enough? There were so many . . . .

Valk could feel exhaustion crashing over her in waves, and she shivered from head to toe. Her swords were slowing, slicing through skin but not muscle, enraging the creatures further. 

She could feel Grogu quivering and cold and afraid. It made her heart ache but there would be no surviving much less comforting him if she couldn’t stay focused.

The end of her staff cut a little harder, punched a little deeper at the thought of the Child. And at the thought of Din. She could feel his pain and underneath it, a current of fear. Her own fear was climbing higher with the responsibility of these two companions. For so long, she had been responsible only for herself. Only had to watch her own back. But Din was watching her back. And she was watching his. And they were both watching out for the Child. Her charges weighed heavily on her shoulders. 

Four Xius crested the pile of components, flashing their teeth and dripping blood. Three slammed into Valk, and she flew off the edge of the barge, landing in the mud with a smack, knocking the breath out of her. She had landed on her side, but the mud was so churned up and wetted down with blood that it closed over her head, and when she gasped, trying to regain her breath, she sucked in a mouthful where it had been forced up under the edge of her mask. Her body spasmed to wretch, but she clamped down on the urge, keeping any more of the sludge out of her mouth and lungs.

The creatures were busy sinking their teeth into what they could reach through the mire. She twisted and yanked her other knife free, dropping her naginata. She twisted and slashed blindly, punching and stabbing until there was no more movement. 

She staggered up, spitting sludge and gagging, gasping and bleeding. She jammed a knife back into her sheath and plunged her hands into the mud, searching for the naginata. She had no other weapon suitable to keep the carnivores at bay. If she couldn’t find it, she would have to risk using her knives and having the creatures in much too close quarters for safety. Just as she was abandoning it for lost, her fingers brushed something hard. She yanked it free and spun around.

The barge hadn’t moved far, but Valk could see the last Xiu on the barge leaping toward Din.

She cried out and lunged toward him. It reached him first and caught him around the middle, its teeth clamping down. She screamed, the pain from his bite or her own injuries and the fear for her companions spiking her adrenaline. The force of the impact had also knocked Din down into the sludge with a whump. She lunged toward Din, bringing her spear blade down through the creature’s heart. It screeched and squirmed before releasing the Mandalorian. 

She grabbed the front of his breastplate and his belt and with a tremendous shout, she used every last ounce of energy and called on the Force with everything she had. She managed to haul him over the lip and propped him against the droid.

Din coughed and felt something wet and unmistakably blood-flavored fill his mouth and spill out between his lips. 

Valk saw the blood drip down Din’s neck and the sudden grief and agony lanced through her. For a moment, she danced on a knife’s edge of paralysis and tragedy. She had no idea whether his lungs would fill with blood and drown him on the barge where he sat before she could get some bactaspray on his injuries. He could simply bleed out before she could get to him. He could die, his life force leaking out until nothing of Din Djarin was left in the shell of armor. He would never eat another round of Nee’an. He would never radiate happiness with Char and the Child in the hold, eating and playing ever again. He would never flash her another look so heavy with curiosity and hunger that she could feel it on her skin. She would never feel his pulse speed up as she brushed her fingers over the silky ice of his armor. She would never get to press her fingers on his warm skin and feel his heartbeat with her own hands. He would never know that she would die for him, for the Child, for what they had built and enjoyed these last few precious days.

A second later, she gave a war cry and let go. She let go of her fear, Din would die whether she was afraid or not. She let go of her panic, the Child would die whether she was panicked or not. She let go of her self, she was useless if she couldn’t save them. She would rather die defending them, than live with their deaths on her hands. 

She did not truly want to die, but what was there to live for?

Everything fell away except the Xius’ heartbeats. They slowed, and she lived in the moments between one pulse and the next, moving free of pain and constraint. She moved from one point of life to the next, extinguishing them one by one. 

Then there was nothing but the weak throbbing of Din’s heart and the tremulous terror from the Child.

Valk strode back to the barge, the battle strength draining from her body with every step. The fatigue crushed into her, and she shook as she reached the aft of the sledge. She hauled open the chest and hauled out her bag, digging through it, feeling for the bactaspray canisters she had purchased.

She babbled to the Child, trying to reassure him as she felt out the Mandalorian’s wounds and began spraying them. 

Her hand was trembling and she used up an entire container just on the puncture wounds on his stomach. She took another and tipped up his helmet, opening his mouth, pinching his nose, and spraying it so he would be forced to breath it into his lungs. Din slumped over at her push, and Valk emptied the rest of it on the gouges on his back. She used another on the thick clawmarks on his arm and the ones running down his legs.

And that was all that she had brought. She had never fought so many Xius off before. She had never heard of them moving in packs of more than a dozen. 

She gave up a prayer to whatever gods were willing to listen to her that she wouldn’t bleed out before Quetta.

She hauled herself up, moving Din back onto his back, and slumped next to him herself. She didn’t have the strength for her naginata, so she took out her bloody, muddy knives and crossed them on her lap.

She could feel the rain drops through her suits, rolling down her body, the slight percussive hits aggravating the wounds and throbbing throughout her body. 

She had no idea what time it was. She couldn’t read a chrono and couldn’t see the sky. She couldn’t yet sense the nexus of life that was Quetta yet, so she continued sitting and breathing and feeling every ache, every pulse of life through the Force, every strengthening heartbeat of Din’s. Every weakening beat of her own.

She sat and tried to stay awake. She pressed her thumbs into the raw wounds piercing her body to spike her adrenaline and keep her from sleep.

The orbki began dropping from the sky. Valk rose shakily and batted them away with her short swords. Their nests did not stretch far through the canopy, and despite the sledge’s slow pace, she only had to fend off perhaps four dozen of them. They were driven by the scent of their blood, and as the rain washed it away, the fewer of them dropped from their webs, legs and teeth clicking. 

Whether she stayed conscious or slept, she couldn’t tell but then there were shouts and the noise and piercing light of life through the Force.

“Leave our masks on,” she gasped as hands began lifting her injured limbs, the effort taking the last of her consciousness with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes of interest: the Kaleesh are the race that General Grievous once was. There are also a warrior race with a few elements in common to the Mandalorians, their face masks being the primary one. They also rarely remove their like the Children of the Watch. 
> 
> I also am enjoying exploring what a non-Jedi battlebond might look like. The descriptions of Jedi during fights has gotten me very curious about what it would look like for two untrained but Force sensitive people.
> 
> I don't think I've said it explicitly, so cookie for you if you figure out what Valk perceives as her big weakness is. 
> 
> I am also closing the gap on what I had written ahead, so my posting schedule may shift. (If I'm honest here, it's a great day if I can crank out anything even halfway readable, so your patience is greatly appreciated)
> 
> I also realized that Pedro Pascal's character in Game of Thrones, Oberyn Martell, uses what looks pretty similar to a naginata. 
> 
> Thank you for the reads and kudos!
> 
> I would also very much appreciate a comment if you have the time!

**Author's Note:**

> One quick note here, the naginata that Valk Charvha carries is a real weapon that female Samurais commonly used. They are a very interesting weapon, and it seems well suited to Valk.


End file.
